


Dreamers' Hideaway

by sztikerami



Category: Dir en grey, Jrock, the GazettE
Genre: Abuse, Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Anal Sex, Attempted Rape/Non-Con, Child Abuse, Childhood Memories, Childhood Trauma, Domestic Violence, Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, Imaginary Friends, M/M, Male Slash, Mental Breakdown, Mental Health Issues, Mental Instability, Oral Sex, Past Abuse, Physical Abuse, Psychologists & Psychiatrists, Self Confidence Issues, Self-Mutilation, Suicidal Thoughts, Suicide Attempt, Therapy, Verbal Abuse
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-05-02
Updated: 2013-11-28
Packaged: 2018-01-02 22:42:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,331
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1062516
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sztikerami/pseuds/sztikerami
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Little Akira had been abused by his father each and every day ever since he was born. In order to stop himself from falling apart, his mind created a dreamland to escape to when his father was too violent, a world where his imaginary friend Uruha lived.<br/>Growing up only to become an adult with severe mental disorders, Akira slowly forgot about Uruha. But one day he meets him in a shop... is it only his mind tricking him - or does his beloved friend really exist?<br/>Andou Daisuke is Tokyo's number one therapist. Can he help Akira sort things out and save him from going insane for good?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Beta-ed by the awesome mimichan_rebel @ LJ.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "
> 
> They might say this never happened  
> I'd say it just did  
> Never have I felt it stronger  
> Someone's wrong and I am right
> 
> In a world of disillusion  
> Loitering away your time  
> There's no harm in reconstruction  
> Paint the world in black and white"
> 
> /Theatre of Tragedy – Empty/

It was only half past seven in the morning, but the parking lots in between the four hospital buildings were already crowded. A long-haired man gracefully got out of his blood red Toyota, his leather boots making no sound as they collided with the asphalt of the parking lot. A silver lighter was fished out of a black leather jacket's pocket to bring a small flame to life a second later, so the dark-haired man could light his cigarette. Some people, patients and visitors, gave him weird looks – the young male was standing right under a 'no smoking' sign. But the doctors and nurses passing him by did not care about him, they were used to the famous therapist smoking in the parking lot. That cigarette before work was part of the famous Andou Daisuke's daily routine, everyone knew that.

The man leaned his back against his car, taking deep drags of his cigarette in a leisure manner, gazing up at the sky. The weird looks others gave him didn't affect him at all.

“It's a beautiful morning, isn't it?” a deep, husky voice greeted him. Daisuke didn't even need to look there to know it was his best friend Kyo.

“You call this beautiful?” the tall man snorted, glancing at his much shorter friend from the corner of his eyes. He could never understand this particular person. He didn't even know why they were friends. Kyo and him had only three things in common: both of them loved cigarettes, were bisexual and loved analyzing the human brain, even though Kyo's and Daisuke's methods of analysis were quite different.

Kyo, better known as Nishimura Tooru was the most famous neurosurgeon of the country, while Daisuke was a psychotherapist – not any less famous and praised than his short friend, may I add. They had met in college, they had been forced to share the same room in the dusty rundown dormitory of the university. They were like fire and water, but one year had been enough for them to become friends – and they had been sticking together ever since then for reasons unknown.

“Well, I like winter mornings.” the short doctor shrugged, a huge grin plastered on his face. That grin could only mean one thing, Daisuke knew it well. “And this is an especially beautiful morning, Die.”

“So you're cutting into some famous person's brain today?” Die raised an eyebrow. His short friend was obsessed with brains, and not just a little bit for that matter. It was definitely unhealthy, an obsession of an insane manner, yet Daisuke stopped himself from telling his friend that, because he knew Kyo's fingers could do miracles and save many people's lives. Sometimes being insane just a little bit could play at a scientist's hands.

“Yes.” Kyo said with a hint of childish excitement in his voice. He grabbed Die's hand, took the cigarette from him and knocked some ash off to the ground before he lifted it to his lips. Kyo had a bad habit of chewing on the filter's tipping paper, so when the short man wanted to give the cigarette back to the therapist, Die shook his head no. He wouldn't take something literally dripping of Kyo's saliva between his lips. It would be utterly disgusting. “And not just any famous person, Die. The Minister of Health himself. I'm so gonna dig deep into that small brain of his to see if everything's in the right place in there, because he has been an idiot lately. He plans to cut the hospitals' budget short. Stupid asshole.”

“Just don't kill him.” Die chuckled.

“I don't plan to.” Kyo shrugged. “I'm going to do a great job. Fuck the Hippocratic Oath, I can't do anything else but a great job. All patients shall be treated equally.”

“So you do have morals in the end, my friend.” Die grinned, earning a rather displeased grunt from the short neurosurgeon.

“Anyway, it's 7:45, I'm supposed to be by his operating table by eight, so I need to get going now.” After stating that, Kyo took a last drag of the cigarette then flickered the fag away. “Wish me luck, Die.”

“You don't need any luck, you know that.” the long-haired man said and waved at his friend, who had already turned on his heels to leave.

Die watched him for a few more seconds before he checked the door of his car, making sure it was closed and started walking down the sidewalk, carrying his briefcase in one hand, his plastic entrance card in the other. Reaching the front entrance of Building D, he pushed the glass door open and approached the front desk to check in, greeting a small group of nurses and doctors on his way with a small bow of his head.

“Good morning, Andou-sensei.” the young man at the front desk greeted him, earning a wide smile from the famous therapist. Die liked this young man, equally short as his best friend, but with actual manners and no tattoos. Not that Daisuke had anything against tattoos, he himself had one on his right hand too.

“Good morning to you too, Matsumoto-san.” he said, unzipping his black leather jacket before he signed the attendance register. “Can you please tell my assistant to bring me some coffee when she arrives? I bet she's being late again, right?”

“She is.” Matsumoto sighed as he handed a stash of papers over to the therapist. “I wonder why Andou-sensei hasn't fired her yet. Anyway, these medical charts were left here for you by the headmaster. She kindly requests you to take care of Yamamoto-sensei's patients while she's on her maternity leave.”

Die nodded and took the charts from the assistant. “Thank you. Have a nice day.” With a final smile given to the young male, he headed for the elevators. His office was on the fourth floor and he wasn't in the mood for taking the steps. It was too early in the morning for physical exercises in his opinion, moreover, today was Monday and as every single man on this planet, Andou Daisuke hated Mondays.

The metallic door of the elevator opened up and the monotonous prerecorded female voice coming from the speaker announced that they have reached the fourth floor. Die was the only one to step out of the elevator. He headed straight to his office, opened his door with his entrance card and sat down at his desk, tossing his briefcase carelessly aside. He put the medical charts down to the table, but didn't flip the dark green folders open when he sat down. It was too early for reading medical charts.

The young therapist let out a sigh and leaned back in his seat. He was sure this was going to be nothing but a typical Monday. Uneventful. Annoying. He didn't expect more than at least one suicide attempt in the building (meaning more paperwork for him), and his regular outpatients to visit (even more paperwork).

Daisuke, truth to be told, was bored. He loved his job, but his days had been pretty monotonous lately. The annoying beeping of his digital alarm clock woke him up every morning at 6am sharp. He took a quick shower, turned his laptop on to check his e-mails while sipping a cup of coffee (two sugars and just a tiny bit of cream) and smoking a cigarette, he dressed up and went to work. He spent the entire day in the health care centre. His job was to listen to people who had mental issues, prescribe antidepressants for them if needed and take a look at the inpatients every once in a while. Also, as the head of the Department of Psychiatry, he had to deal with an enormous amount of paperwork, too. He usually left the building after 8pm and headed straight to home to take a shower, grab something to eat and go to sleep in his king-sized bed. Even though it was a bed for two, he hadn't shared it with anyone for five years.

Every day was just the same – and Daisuke hated everything he had grown used to. He hated growing used to things, being just methodical and monotonous. He wanted a change, something to happen finally. Anything. Because his life had been horribly uneventful lately.

A knock on the door was heard and Die snapped back to realty. “Come in.” The therapist slowly lifted his head up only to see a well-known patient hesitantly walking into his office. His heart clenched at the sight of this young man called Suzuki Akira, who was secretly his favourite patient. Had he no mental issues, this guy could win the Nobel Price easily. He was smart, intelligent, a real genius. And a talented artist on top of all that.

"Good morning," the young man muttered, biting his lower lip as he slowly approached Daisuke's desk. The therapist looked him up and down. Akira's baggy clothes couldn't hide how frail his body was. His face was pale, his skin whiter than snow, his lips dry, the dark circles around his empty brown eyes could have easily been mistaken for black ties. But still, with his bleached blonde hair worn in a mohawk and that strange piece of 'clothing' Akira referred to as a noseband covering half of his face, the man looked absolutely gorgeous. Hot, just utterly unhealthy. If they'd only met under different circumstances, Die would have asked the blonde out for a date. But hospital policy and the fact that this man indeed had issues stopped him from doing so.

"Good morning, Akira." The psychiatrist offered the young man a small smile, motioning towards one of the couches in his office, "Please, take a seat."

The blonde sat down and looked up at Daisuke, giving the man an apologetic look. “I'm sorry for coming here without any notification. I know you were only expecting me for tomorrow, but... I needed to come.”

“It's okay. You know you can come here whenever. Or give me a call anytime, even if it's 3am, I keep my cellphone on my bedside table.” Die told him with a faint, gentle smile. He was really curious now, Akira had never shown up in his office like this, out of the blue. Their meetings were on Tuesday and Friday ever since he was Daisuke's patient.

"How have you been?" the older male asked, but received no answer from the blonde. Akira never talked in this office, he had never talked to his therapist ever since he'd showed up in the clinic's fertilizer-scented building to ask for his help. For two years the young man had kept visiting Daisuke's office twice a week, not saying anything but 'Good morning' and 'Goodbye'. Daisuke had done everything to get him talk, but there had been no progress so far.

Which was really annoying, it destroyed Die's ego completely. He was called the most talented psychiatrist of the country, he was highly praised by co-workers and patients alike, yet here was this man, this fragile, young blonde who he couldn't figure out. He hadn't been able to diagnose him. He hadn't been able to help him make any progress. It wasn't only annoying, but sad too, especially since the blonde had been the one to come here for help.

Moreover, Die's boss started bitching about this case since Akira couldn't pay for Daisuke's services and didn't have an insurance either. He was too poor, he could hardly even afford to buy himself food, the long-haired therapist could tell at first glance. Dai didn't mind it as long as he could help him - he didn't choose this job to get a shitload of money out of it but to actually help people. But the headmaster... she was another case. That old bitch had wanted to get rid of poor Akira from the start.

Sighing, the psychiatrist stood up and handed a piece of blank paper to the other. "Could you write me a short story, please?" he asked, smiling at the sitting figure. When the fragile man reached out for the piece of paper and took it from the older male, Die noticed that there were new, fresh scars on Akira's wrist. So he had been cutting himself all night again, huh?

Usually, instead of talking Akira wrote or painted something. Something that was so beautiful, so unique yet completely useless in psychological terms. There was never a trace of his true feelings or thoughts in his stories and paintings, they looked just as empty as his eyes, no wonder Daisuke had been having a hard time figuring him out. It was impossible to judge or understand this person, even Die was failing with that task.

Daisuke looked at Akira expectantly, but the blonde only stared at the paper for long moments before giving it back to the therapist. This had never happened. Usually he just wrote or drew, whatever Die asked of him. But today was different. Today Akira looked different and the change, the 'something' Daisuke had been waiting for to happen was right in front of him now.

As Akira looked up at him, the pair of dark brown orbs finally showed some emotion. They stopped being empty, sorrow, fear and confusion were written all over the young male's face now. And after long moments passed in silent hesitation, the blonde finally said something,

"I saw him today."


	2. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "I was born in another world  
> strictly connected to a piece of my mind  
> nothing more than a little land  
> it is a small cradle where I'm a kid  
> I am the princess in there,  
> nothing wrong in my fantasy world
> 
> I am the king, the nation,  
> no dictators or religions  
> no laws laid down for me  
> I have my own liberty inside of me  
> nothing to lose, I want to live here"
> 
> /Lacuna Coil – To Myself I Turned/

  
_"I saw him today."_  
  
Daisuke stared at his patient for seconds, completely dumbfounded. Akira talked. Out of the blue he had just started talking. What the hell was going on? What the hell had happened to his patient to make him not only showing up at an unusual hour, but to start speaking too?  
  
"Who?" he asked finally, earning a nervous look from the younger male. Akira was obviously embarrassed, even with his so-called noseband covering half of his face, his blush was visible.  
  
"Uruha..." the blonde whispered.  
  
"Uruha? Who's Uruha?" the therapist asked, raising an eyebrow. Akira didn't answer. Minutes passed and there was only silence until Daisuke decided to speak up, "Look, if you don't tell me, I won't understand," he said in a gentle tone which seemed to convince Akira.  
  
"He was," he started, nervously tugging at the sleeves of his dark grey sweatshirt, biting his lower lip and clenching his fist, "he was my childhood best friend." He glanced up at the therapist as if he was expecting him to do something bad to him, to either slap him or abuse him with words – a reaction to his own words Daisuke hadn't seen coming.  
  
"Oh?" he gave Akira a gentle, reassuring smile. He wished he could comfort the other somehow, the young male looked so tense as if he was afraid of his own words. Or, rather, his own mind. "Well, that's good, isn't it? Meeting a friend after many years?"  
  
"Um... you don't understand." Akira muttered, looking up at the elder man. His eyes were filled with tears, something Daisuke had never seen before in those beautiful dark orbs. Usually they were just empty, but now one thousand and one emotions were shining brightly in them.  
  
"Tell me then." he said gently, another reassuring smile appearing on his lips. Now, they were making a progress. Most people would call it a small one, but Die knew it was a huge step for the blonde. A step he had been hesitating to take for two years.  
  
"Uruha doesn't exist," Akira whispered.  
  
"Huh?" the psychiatrist looked confused for a second, but then his expression went dark. Oh no, was Uruha a voice in Akira's head? That was the last thing Daisuke would want to learn from the blonde today. He didn't want his patient to be like _those_. He didn't want to write _that_ particular diagnosis down on Suzuki Akira's medical chart. “What do you mean by that?”  
  
“He was just an imaginary friend.” Akira averted his gaze and fell silent again. He was having a hard time trying to express his thoughts and feelings. Being someone who basically had no friends or family to talk to, the young man often had trouble choosing his words right. Not because he was stupid or uneducated, but solely because of the fact that he wasn't used to talking, especially not about himself. After five minutes passed in silence, he let out a shaky breath, lifted his head up and finally started telling his tale, the same one he had wanted to tell two years ago when he first visited Andou Daisuke's office.

~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~

  
_23 years ago_  
  
"You worthless little piece of shit!" his father yelled, grabbing the collar of his son's shirt and lifting his frail little body up in the air. "How dare you steal food from my kitchen!?"  
  
Akira whimpered in his father's gruesome hands. "I was hungry," he wanted to say but knew better, so he kept his mouth shut. Three days. He hadn't eaten anything for three days because his father was apparently forgetting that his son, much alike to every single human being on this planet, needed food to survive, and now Akira's little tummy was hurting.  
  
"Say, how could you do this to your own father, huh?" the man continued yelling, lifting the poor boy further up from the ground by the collar of his shirt, so they were face to face now. The breath of Akira's father smelled of alcohol. “You should be glad I'm not getting rid of you here and now. And don't take me wrong, it's not because I love you or care for you, but hiding your dead body would be too troublesome. I don't even have the patience to deal with that, you little scum.”  
  
Little Akira started sobbing. Why was his father yelling at him? Why was he hurting him? Was it really that wrong to eat an apple without permission? Did he really not deserve the food?  
  
"Next time you do that, I'll cut your hand off. I don't tolerate stealing," the old man hissed, dropping the poor 6-year-old back to the floor. Before he turned around to walk out the room, he made sure to kick the boy in the leg and in the stomach a few times.  
  
As his father left, Akira curled up into a small ball. Confusion was written all over his pale little face, he didn't understand why his father treated him like this. He saw the kids on the street holding hands with their parents, playing with them, eating ice cream together every day... why wasn't his parent like that too? His father never played with him. Never gave him any presents. The only thing he got from the old man was beating on a daily basis, countless scars, wounds and endless pain. Punches, kicks, cuts and burns.  
  
Akira lived with his divorced father in a rundown apartment complex with grey concrete walls. Their flat was small and dusty. He knew he had a sister and a mother somewhere, but he had never met them. His father had been a well-known baseball player when he was younger, a famous star in Japan and his dream was to teach his sons how to play and raise the star of the next generation. But his dream couldn't come true as Akira was born with a 'weak heart', as he liked to put it, a not too dangerous but obvious disorder which prevented him from doing any sports. He was angry at his son for his illness, he was angry at him for being worthless, for being so little, helpless and fragile. Maybe this, maybe the divorce was the reason he first started beating Akira up.  
  
Akira didn't have any friends. He wasn't allowed out of the house after business hours and wasn't allowed to play with the other kids either. He was ordered to keep silent in class, only answering teachers' questions and never interact with other students. The kids from his class thought he was strange, but truth to be told, he was just like any of them. He wished he could play with them, he wished he could talk to them, but was too afraid to break his father's rules. So he could only watch the others playing from the distant. He was lonely.  
  
According to his teachers, Akira was a kid with true talent. Math, science, literature, calligraphy - no matter which subject it was, the boy was top of the class. And what was his father's reaction when he read his school report? "Great, I'm either raising a future geek or a science nerd. Useless piece of shit." That was Akira's nickname at home, 'useless piece of shit'.  
  
The boy didn't know how to deal with all this. He was too young to defend himself. He couldn't do anything but laying on the floor, crying or singing a song his homeroom teacher taught them at school, closing his eyes. He wanted to be somewhere else, somewhere safe. He wanted to have someone he could play with, someone who would be nice enough to hold him and comfort him. He didn't want to be alone in this cruel world...  
  
That was how he had come up with it, his little personal fairy tale. He closed his eyes and imagined he was in a nice and warm place instead of his small, dark, dusty and cold room. Next time, he imagined there were cherry trees in that nice and warm place. He sat on the grass and watched the beautiful flowers, enjoying the warm spring breeze. Next time, after his father had been cutting his legs with a dull knife for hours, he imagined someone came and bandaged him up. That someone had no face at first, but slowly the child's imagination formed them into a 12-year-old kid. Akira decided to call his new friend Uruha, as he was the most beautiful being in the world.  
  
Uruha was taller than other 12-year-olds. He had pouty lips, blueish eyes and honey blonde hair, his skin was flawless and he was a talented soccer player. He was gentle and caring, always protecting Akira. He was funny and smart, beautiful, had a great humour and he giggled a lot. He was perfect.  
  
Everytime he was left alone, Akira would talk to his imaginary friend. After a point he didn't even have to close his eyes anymore to see Uruha and their secret world. Uruha was there with him every time his father was beating him up, watching Akira with sad eyes, taking care of the boy's injuries after the old man was gone.  
  
This time wasn't different. As little Akira was laying on the floor curled up int a ball, someone touched his shoulder lightly. _"Hey, Akira-chan,"_ Uruha said gently, _"you shouldn't lay here on the floor. Come on, let's get you cleaned up, I don't want you to catch a cold."_  
  
Akira slowly opened his eyes and stood up with his friend's help. He limped out to the bathroom, Uruha supporting him on the way and while he was getting cleaned up. "Thanks," the little boy muttered, blushing.  
  
“ _You don't need to thank me. I am your friend, remember?”_ the beautiful being chuckled lightly and helped Akira back to his room. He pushed him down onto the bed and wrapped a blanket around his frail body.  
  
“You are always so nice to me, Ruru-chan.” the little boy sighed and closed his eyes as his friend started caressing his face.  
  
_"Let's play something today, 'kay?"_ Uruha suggested cheerfully. _"Like hide and seek?"_  
  
"Okay." the boy nodded. He blinked once, twice and then they were in their little dreamland again, sitting on the green grass. The two friends looked at each other for a few moments in silence, until Akira averted his gaze from Uruha and started playing with a blade of grass, curling it around his small fingers. "Why does he do this to me, Uruha-chan?" he asked, referring to his father.  
  
Uruha smiled at him sadly. _"He wanted you to become a baseball star, you know,"_ he said.  
  
"I can't be a baseball star. I'm not supposed to do any sports, my heart is weak." Akira muttered, hugging his knees to his chest.  
  
_"I know,"_ the honey blonde nodded, patting his friend on the shoulder.  
  
"I'm hungry." the small kid mumbled with a childish pout.  
  
_"I know."_ _Uruha repeated, hugging the other close to his chest. He started caressing Akira's back idly, comfortingly._  
  
"I want to eat ramen." Akira sighed, closing his eyes and leaning into the other's touch. He hid his face in the crook of Uruha's neck and inhaled his scent deeply. It reminded him of the scent of summer plump, fresh drops of water on blooming roses.  
  
_"Then let's eat ramen,"_ Uruha suggested, pointing behind Akira's back. _"There's a restaurant, let's ask if they have ramen."_  
  
"I don't have money," Akira muttered, blushing. Even in his imagination, his mind worked rationally. One would need money to buy food, right?  
  
_"I have money, I'll treat you,"_ the taller boy winked, gently grabbing Akira's hand, pulling him up from the ground and leading him towards the restaurant.  
  
Two minutes later they were sitting at a table, eating delicious food – that's how a child's imagination works.  
  
"Am I really a useless piece of shit?" the 6-year-old asked in a sad tone. Using his chopsticks, he was trying to fish a piece of meat out of his soup, but failed miserably. His imaginary friend hurried to help and picked that piece of delicious beef up with his own pair of chopsticks, holding it up in front of Akira to bite.  
  
_"No, you're not."_ he said, glaring at the 6-year-old. _"You're smart, you're nice and you’re my best friend."_  
  
After swallowing his piece of meat, Akira offered the older boy a rare, happy smile, a smile that was mirrored by Uruha that instant. "You're my best friend too, Ruru-chan. I love you."  
  
_"I love you too, Akira-chan."_


End file.
